A Haphazard Sunday

On Sunday, I played 5-aside football.

I haven't played football in the best part of a year, although I have been in reasonable shape and so decided that although I'd suffer physically, it would be good fun.

And it was, but not without consequence.

When half an hour into our allotted hour slot, I tripped and fell.

The skin on the lower-left quarter of my right palm crumpled like a poorly fastened carpet, and subsequently left my hand due to the friction from the court. Think a basketball court, and you're thinking of the right kind of surface.

Missing most of the skin on my palm, I went to reception to get the skin cut off.

Karl: Have you got some surgical scissors back there?
Receptionist: Sorry, no. We have some office scissors though?
Karl: *Holds up hand*
Karl: I want to cut this off.
R: Oh. We can put a plaster on it?
R: *Puts plaster on K's hand. It melts away due to the water leaking out of said hand.
K: Bandage?
R: *Unrolls bandage*

Suddenly, something flies into the back of my throat. Whether it was a fly under the orders of god to make my day more interesting, I'm not sure. I told the receptionist to carry on preparing the bandage while I went to get a drink.

I went to the toilets, and was unable to remove the fly from my throat without being sick first. Terrific.

I go back to the desk, and still feeling like the little shit is back there, wrap up my hand and go back to playing football.

It was great to get back to playing again though, so I wasn't complaining too much, and I'm still not this morning, despite it stinging a bit.

I came home feeling shattered and with my hand stinging, and had a shower whilst squealing like a little girl.

I dried myself off, brushed my teeth and took a nice big gulp of mouth-wash. Walking out of the room to gargle, I suddenly felt the uncontrollable urge to sneeze, and couldn't reach the sink in time. Great. The wall that was once white is now bright blue.

I'm ignoring the man upstairs, and refusing to give up playing football regardless of the cost.

Unless I break something. That'd probably do it.

The smell of a sneeze

You're going to think I'm mad, or weird, or both. I can smell a sneeze.

It's not a pleasant smell. It's sort of a mouldy smell, and it lingers in the air. It's usually most pungent when combined with saliva, and the most unfortunate thing that I was to discover about my ability was to be uncovered on the train home from work.

I was sat next to a blonde mild-mannered girl, with a portly chap reading the telegraph across the aisle to my right.

I was listening to my MP3 player at a reasonably loud volume, but I still heard the sound of a sneeze and turned to see the portly gent mid-flow.

Immediately the smell hit the air, and there you have it.

I can smell other peoples' sneezes. Not exactly the most glamourous of super-powers is it?

I think I'd rather be thermometer man, or powdered-toast man.

Hell, it'd be more glamourous if I lived off of the smell of childrens' tears. Sick, but quite cool. I'd be like a super miserable old git.